


Beneath the Waves

by cricketcheesecake



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: AU, Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, a little of that bc it is set in the past, at some point??, mermaid au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 08:31:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8616901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cricketcheesecake/pseuds/cricketcheesecake
Summary: Baz is a human, living in a remote fishing village along the coast of Northumberland. Simon is a mermaid. Penny is the exhausted sea witch that keeps them both from falling apart.





	1. Chapter 1

**SIMON**

I felt the waves moving and crashing around me like a lullaby. It rushed in my ears, filling my insides and comforting me. It wrapped around my arms and slipped through my veins like blood.

I smiled, my eyes closed as I let the current play with me for a bit, twisting my tail about like the ocean wanted to dance with me. It was a pulse, a heartbeat I could hear pounding all around.

Words were useless, in my opinion, when you had water. Water didn’t need words, but people understood it better than they understood themselves. It’s so beautiful, if people just stopped to look.

I was deep down underneath the surface, far deeper than I dared bring Penny. Sometimes she insisted on being escorted though the waters, holding onto my fin, even when it was cold, but it was much too cold for a land dweller. It was _frigid_ , the dark water capable of turning Penny’s blood into icy sludge.

By Triton, it turned _my_ blood into sludge.

Waterfolk like me were meant for tropical beaches, for the sun shimmering turquoise through the water and warming my fins. My scales were thin and colorful, perfect for catching people’s eyes and tricking them into thinking they saw buried treasure underneath the sand. I was meant for Mediterranean seas. The kind of ocean landfolk got into and griped that it did nothing to cool them off.

 _Agatha_ , however, was a different story.

With her grey-white skin and thick silver scales, she was built for the dim world underneath glaciers. Her large black eyes took in so much light that it was blinding for her to live where I used to.

I’d followed her here, which was ridiculous of me, now that I look back on it. I’d followed her because why wouldn’t I? She was alone and so was I.

So I ended up in this cold ass ocean off the coast of Northumberland. It was all rocky cliffs and grey shores populated with grey people and grey houses. Agatha and I stuck together for a while; we were the only waterfolk foolish enough to muck about around fishing villages like this one.

Last summer, Agatha decided it was still too warm for her, even though I was barely surviving the winters. She’d caught word of Arctic waterfolk living off the coast of northern Siberia, with large eyes and thick scales just like her.

She hadn’t cared if I followed her, and I hadn’t really cared to.

image

So here I was, stuck in this place just warm enough to keep me from freezing and cold enough to remind me I didn’t fit. I didn’t belong here but, then again, I didn’t really belong anywhere else I’d been either.

Penny was the only reason I stayed.

I opened one eye, catching sight of a ship’s hull. It was barely visible from way down here, through this ink they called water, but nonetheless, I didn’t appreciate how close it was coming to me.

 _Can’t I just enjoy myself in peace_ , I thought, huffing and sending a troop of tiny bubbles drifting upwards towards the sun. _No, I couldn’t. These bloody fisherman._

I slipped down between a particularly ominous crack in the black slag. These shorelines up North like this were interesting, or at least I thought so. It was all rock and craggy cliffs, so there were mazes of caves and black boulders to play in. Every nook was filled with strange creatures, as grey and washed-out as the people that lived on this island.

Eels in particular, slimy with their sharp eyes, liked to come out of their homes as I passed by, trying to wrap around my arms and nibble at my scales. I tried to tell them to cut it out, but I had a feeling they knew I didn’t really mind.

Kelp surrounded me, caressing my hair as I made my way through towards Penny’s part of the shoreline. They were so black, it was like shadows brushing against my skin and trying to swallow me whole, and it was enough to make most landfolk feel their hearts clench with dread.

Penny once told me she would never want to be one of the waterfolk. To her, it seemed scary, and ominous, my world. As though it would be so easy to just sink into the yawning abyss of the ocean until you couldn’t find your way back out again.

I opted not to tell her that that was exceedingly common. I mean, waterfolk tricking themselves deeper and deeper into the void of trenches, until their fins could no longer work right and their teeth turned sharp, where you could hear their warbled singing calling you into the void.

I also opted not to tell her of the monstrous waterfolk that preyed on those lost in the depths, their hands the size of ships and their claws like swords. Big black eyes and long hair that tangled you up like insidious kelp.

I opted not to tell her that most waterfolk travelled alone, which was why Agatha and I had stuck together. Agatha hated the solitary culture of our kind, so much so that she’d made her way to a group of them that lived in waters too cold for most.

No, I opted not to tell her these things. She already thought my life was dangerous enough as it is.

image  
“You absolute bloody moron,” a voice barked as soon as I surfaced in the Bunce’s house. That is, the small covered dock where Mr. Bunce kept his fishing pram.

Grinning, I propped my head on folded arms, keeping my lower half drifting down into the deep water. I liked this small shack they had, I had to say. It was built into the cliff face, like most things had to be here, so I didn’t have to bother with clambering onto shore to visit with Penny.

And it was covered, which was nice. Penny let me stay here when the ocean got too cold for me, the ice making the edges of my scales frost up and my fingers stiffen.

_Oh. Penny._

The one who was currently scowling down at me. Her strange glasses magnified her eyes, so they looked twice as disapproving. She had heavy boots on her feet, their tapping making the waterlogged planks vibrate under my arms.

I blinked up at her, hoping I looked innocent. “What did I do this time?”

“Don’t think I didn’t see you frolicking about by that whaleboat,” she said, poking my cheek. She huffed, subtly wiping her finger off on her skirt. “You could get hurt doing that. What if they think you a whale? What then?”

I reached out to tug on one of her shoelaces. “Are you calling me fat, Penny?”

“Don’t be such a wanker,” she replied, dropping down on the floor. Her brows were still furrowed, but I knew she wasn’t angry with me anymore when she leaned over and brushed a chunk of wet hair out of my eyes.

I hoisted myself up to sit at the dock’s edge, watching Penny as she peered over to look at my tail. I grinned and swished it, looking at the mint and gold scales shimmer faintly.

They shone brighter in the sun, obviously, but the sun didn’t make much of an appearance in this gloomy village.

Penny, with her bright sweaters and brown skin, was the only spot of color within a hundred mile radius. Besides me, of course.

“You know,” Penny said softly, and I immediately didn’t like her tone. It was sympathetic, and a little mournful. “Maybe you should consider leaving.”

I tensed. “Why?”

“Because you’re too _colorful_ for the winter, Simon. To put it bluntly. The water is too dark now, it’s such a blatant contrast. Didn’t you think it was strange that I could see you out by that boat, all the way over here? It’s a miracle the fishermen didn’t either.”

She was right, I knew. I was coming too close to the surface, too close to the shore. Agatha’d warned me not to be so foolish but, really, I’d been foolish my whole life, and I was still alive, wasn’t I?

She sighed, wrapping an arm around my shoulder, even though it would make her sweater damp and smell of kelp. I told her that, but she just laughed.

“Simon, I live in Watford. A fishing village. I’m _always_ damp and smelling of kelp—“

There was a violent bang on the door of the shed, making Penny jump. I immediately slipped back into the water, letting it cover my ears and muffle Penny’s grumbling as she scrambled to her feet.

She lifted the bolt that locked the door, and seemed even more irritated. She followed someone out onto the rocky path.

If I had been smart, I would have just left and came back when Penny was alone.

But then again, I never claimed to be overly intelligent.

I slipped out of the shelter of the covered dock, drifting behind a moss-covered rock nearby. I peeked around the edge, my eyes and ears barely out of the water. I wasn’t a genius like Penny, but I still knew to keep as low as possible.

When I looked to see who had disturbed us, I had expected one of Penny’s siblings. She had so many, far too many for me to comprehend. Waterfolk rarely had more than one child so, to me, the Bunces were a bloody marvel of nature.

I, however, did _not_ see one of Penny’s siblings.

The boy glaring down at Penny was made of scowling features and sharp cheekbones. He was so _tall_ , much taller than any of the landfolk I’d seen here. His skin was a warm reddish brown that should have made me think of color, except his entire being exuded dismal cheerlessness.

Grey cable knit sweater, black pants, black boots, it was as though someone had tried to make a person out of stormy northern seas. His dark hair hung in his face, shaggy and brushing against his cheeks like tendrils of seaweed.

Grey this, grey that, grey eyes that were narrowed down at my only friend.

I stiffened, my grip on the rock tightening. This boy may be beautiful, but he didn’t look very nice at all. If there was someone in this world that embodied these sharp, dark shorelines, it was him.

“ _Bunce_ ,” he snapped, his voice slicing through the morning fog easily. I wasn’t close enough to hear most people, but his words went straight to my ears. “You stole my copy of Moby Dick. I want it back.”

“Baz,” she sighed, leaning against the rickety shed. She didn’t appear scared of him. “That’s the only copy in the village. What else am I supposed to do?”

His look darkened even more, and he folded his arms. His long arms, with slender fingers that looked barely calloused. How odd, for a villager here. “That isn’t my problem, Bunce. Keep away from my books.”

“I seem to remember you stealing my copy of Othello last summer, _you insufferable git_ ,” she cried, throwing her hands up.

I winced. Once Penny threw her hands up, it was impossible to escape her wrath.

He just jerked his chin, sneering, “Just bring the book ‘round mine tomorrow, will you? Mordelia wants it.”

He turned his back, ignoring Penny’s irritated rant, and traipsed back up the winding stone path back to the village. He made it look easy, walking.

I watched him until he was out of sight, until his colorless form disappeared over the rocks.

I took a deep breath, watching my fingers flex into the dark water. I knew Penny was looking over at me by now, waiting for me to swim back over to the shed, but I couldn’t help flicking my eyes back up to where that boy had left.

_Why did I feel warmer than I had all summer?_

 


	2. Chapter 2

**BAZ**

_That dirty thief,_ I thought, scowling as I hunched against the early November winds. My fingers felt brittle, like they were about to break off. I pulled my sleeves down as far as they would go.

_If only bitterness kept you warm._

In my haste to chase Bunce down, I’d forgotten a coat, so all I had was this sweater I wore way too fucking much. But it wasn’t like I could just go out and buy new clothes, not on this godforsaken island.

If we wanted to get things that didn’t come from fish or livestock, we had to spend three hours of our lives making it down to bloody _Ponteland_. And if we wanted chocolate, it was damn near a _day_ to get to London.

Our cottage was perched on top of the hill, surrounded by sheep and half-fixed rowboats. Our’s was probably the richest family in the village but, in all honesty, it was more that we were the least poor. Our roof was freshly thatched and we had a small barn for the sheep.

I huffed, unlatching the gate and yanking it open. The damn thing stuck all the time, but I wasn’t going to be the one to fix it. It was dad, always mucking about and breaking it when he fell down on his way back from the pub.

The path to the door was just a running lane of mud and muck.

I was popping in the house only long enough to pick up the newest book I had, ‘The Picture of Dorian Grey’. I’d already read it four times now, but I hadn’t gotten bored with the words on the pages quite yet. If Bunce knew I had this, she’d kill me and pry the book out of my lifeless fingers.

I snorted. She and I were the only ones within a thirty kilometer radius that were literate, so it was no wonder we were so desperate for books in this bookless wasteland. In fact, maybe if we set aside our differences, we might be able to work together to buy better books than we would alone.

_Laughable._

I tried to ignore the waterlogged floorboards in the cottage, the cracked walls and threadbare couch. A lantern hung over the dining table, unlit, so the only light was filtering in through the grimy window.

 _This_ house was considered the manor of the village.

 _My_ room, however, was a treasure. A haven where I could pretend I was everywhere but where I was.

I sat down on my bed, creaky and lumpy, but covered in soft blankets. Sure, the walls were rough stone, and the floorboards whined underneath my footsteps, but _this_ room was overflowing with books.

Books under the bed, travel guides stacked along the wall, novels in the drawers where clothes should be. I just kept my clothes folded neatly at the foot of the bed. It wasn’t like I had many, and it wasn’t as though I was a particularly restless sleeper.

I kept the extremely valuable books, the ones I couldn’t risk Bunce nicking, up in the rafters. Mordelia had once suggested storing some under the floorboards but, in a place that was barely sea level, that was foolish to even think.

‘The Picture of Dorian Grey’ was the newest addition to the rafters.

I stood up on my bed, gingerly, wincing as the bed squealed in protest. I felt around the rafters, pulling down the bright red book.

I left the house without wondering where anyone was. Dad and Daphne were in London stocking up on food for the winter, and who the hell knew where Mordelia was. Terrorizing the youngest Bunce boys, most likely.

I made my way back down to the shoreline, where dark rock met darker ocean. Icy wind burrowed its way in between the stitches of my clothes, and my cheeks stung where my hair slashed.

I heard the lapping of the water like a heartbeat in my head, lulling me as I sat down. I curled up against one of the larger boulders, pressing against it as though I could sink into its cracks and no longer feel the cold slicing through me.

I caught the briefest glimmer of a big blue fin out a ways, near the caves. I thought, opening my book, _how do fish stand this cold?_

It was miserable out here, and saltwater lingered in the air, seeping into the fabric of my clothes until I was soaked without ever having touched the water.

Out of the corner of my eye, there was a flash of something gold. Or, at least, something decidedly _not grey_. I jerked my head up, but I could see nothing but the shore and faint scattering of cottages farther up the cliff face.

The hairs on the back of my neck rose. I wadded my knees up closer to my chest, scowling at the sea. It felt like the water was watching me, which was preposterous, but also _very_ angering.

This was the one place I could be alone, and now I can’t even get peace here.

**SIMON**

The boy was scowling at the water, which was honestly preposterous.

He couldn’t have seen me, I was almost completely submerged, and besides, humans had a natural affinity for not seeing what they didn’t believe was real.

But Baz was scanning the caves like he was hoping to see a monster, daring something to come out just so he’d know he wasn’t alone.

He’d put on a coat since his spat with Penny, a black coat with worn sleeves and grey buttons. He didn’t seem to mind the wind whipping his hair about, though he must have been cold. He was thin, much too thin for someone that tall.

He’d put on gloves with no fingers on, and his fingertips looked blue-tinged even from here.

The way his eyes were flicking across the waves, that red book gripped tightly, it was as though he was sad. Angry? Bitter? Was it because he was sitting on the rocks of the shore? Was he unhappy?

_Why did I care?_

  
I could never figure out people’s emotions, least of all my own. Waterfolk were left to their own devices by the time they were five and, since then, I’d only met a handful of people, waterfolk or otherwise.

And I’d _certainly_ never met anyone that made my heart thud in my chest the way this Baz did.

I shouldn’t be this close to shore without Penny there, but here I was.

_Why was I drifting even closer?_

I was too close now, still hidden but near enough to catch the smell of cedar and oranges coming off him and catching in the wind. It smelled nice, different from the way other people smelled here. In fact, he barely smelled of fish at all.

_I should turn around, this was a horrible idea, Penny was going to flay me alive._

I cleared my throat.

“Um. Hello?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr!: @ebbthegoatgirl


	3. Chapter 3

**BAZ**

“Um. Hello?”

I tensed, whipping my head up from the book. _Someone was here? No one came down here._ I looked behind me, towards the village, but there wasn’t anyone there.

I barked, “Who is it?”

Silence.

Cold air filled my lungs and the waves crashing against the rocks were static noise. I probably looked like the most confused person currently living, because a voice just said hello to me even though no one is here and also that voice had sounded _really_ fucking attractive?

“Uh. Over here?”

Was that coming from the ocean? Surely not. I jerked forward on my knees, looking out at the sea. There weren’t any boats, at least none close enough for me to hear a voice as clearly as this one’s.

I had to admit, this was the most excitement I’d gotten since Dev had brought back that bag of mint chocolate from Yorkshire last year.

The gravel of the shore bit into my knees, gusts of salty air kept blowing into my face, but I stopped caring because suddenly I _saw_ him.

A boy, an _actual_ boy, his shoulders barely above the water and his right hand gripping one of the sharper rocks over by the enclave.

He was beautiful.

He looked perfectly at ease in the black water, rising out of it like a fucking sun god. And _fuck_ , did he look like a god. Tanned golden skin, dark freckles like someone had splattered him with dark paint, nervous eyes like the sea on the summer solstice.

We locked eyes. I cursed my stomach for the way it flipped and for the way my cheeks were probably red by now. I hated the way my hands gripped the gravel tight enough to draw blood. I hated the way my breath caught for a moment, and it had nothing to do with the wind choking me, suffocating everything I was trying to say.

If I had been more of my own mind, I would have immediately noticed the faint pattern of scales on his cheekbones, or the veins of turquoise in his sopping hair. I would have immediately noticed the faint shimmering of a tail, swirling in the inky darkness below the water’s surface.

But I didn’t.

“What are you doing out there?” I asked softly, breathily, and I _hated_ it. I hated that my voice sounded that way for a boy.

Boys in my village didn’t sound that way for other boys.

But _this_ boy, he just smiled, toothy and a little magical. He said, over the lapping of the ocean, “What are _you_ doing out there?”

He pointed to where I’d been sitting, and I was mesmerized by the glisten of his skin in the overcast.

I coughed, sitting back on my heels. “I like to read out here,” I said, defensively.

He nodded, swishing his hand through the water pensively. We just looked at each other for a moment. He was staring at me intensely, and any thought I had of asking him who he was died in my throat.

If I knew any better, I would have thought that he was looking at _me_ in the same way I was looking at _him._

Finally, I looked down at my book and grumbled, “You should get out of the water. It’s too cold.”

**SIMON**

This is what Penny would have called a Huge Bloody Mistake.

But even so, I think it was worth it. My heart was thumping in my chest and every second made me want to just duck under the surface and swim away as fast as I could, but _Baz_.

I didn’t think he could blush, but by Triton, he was blushing and fiddling with his book with those bony fingers of his and he was nibbling on his lip with sharp teeth.

He’d sounded angry at first, but then as soon as he’d spotted me, he’d gotten…different. He’d inhaled sharply, looking away and back at me at least fifty times before he finally settled his gaze somewhere just to the left of my shoulder.

This had been a mistake, but since I’d already made it, what’s the harm?

I gulped. I heard Penny screaming inside my head to shove a wad of seaweed in my mouth to shut myself up. Instead, I just shrugged. “I can’t come out.”

Baz furrowed his brow. He had lovely eyebrows, really, straight and dark and disapproving. “Why not?’

Then he froze. His grey eyes turned into plates. I could hear him gulp even from here. “I. Are you. Um.” He gestured to himself, looking everywhere but at me.

“Am I what?”

He’d been gnawing at his lips so much I thought they’d start bleeding. “Naked?”

Oh. _Oh._ I laughed, and maybe I drifted a little closer to Baz, a little farther from the sanctuary of the rock. “Technically, yes.”

He inhaled sharply, looking over at the crest of rocks out at the point like they were suddenly the most interesting things he’d seen.

I felt like giggling.

I was having fun with Baz, this boy I’d just met. Who might run away if I showed him what I was hiding underneath the water, but it was okay. Because I liked talking to him and he made me feel like minnows were swimming excitedly in my stomach.

**BAZ**

I felt like butterflies were fluttering in my stomach.

I was having fun, chatting with this stranger who was in water much too cold to stay in. He was breathing in sync with the roll of the waves, his eyes shimmery and crinkling at the corners. Smiling at me, pulling me in closer and closer until the water was a hair’s breadth from my knees. _When had I shuffled this close?_

But it didn’t matter because we were talking easily, his voice silvery and pleasant. I couldn’t place his accent, it certainly wasn’t from England, but I _liked_ that.

Because this was my own head and he couldn’t hear me, I thought to myself, _take me with you when you go home?_

Instead, we bantered, and sometimes my words were too sharp, and I would wince. I always had a hard time being nice, softening the edge to my words, but he didn’t seem to mind. His mouth twisted easily, wrily, and I didn’t feel like I had to be anything but myself.

A thought suddenly occurred to me. “Wait, what’s your name?”

“Well,” he said, suddenly looking uneasy, “you can call me Simon.”

“Is that your nickname?”

He nodded. “People have a hard time saying my real name in English.”

I felt excitement bubble up in me. “English isn’t your first language? What is it? I love linguistics, but everyone here speaks the same thing. Well, except maybe this one person, but I’d sooner die than talk academia with her.”

Simon laughed like he knew exactly who I was talking about. _Simon._ “Penny’s very argumentative, I suppose.”

 _What?_ “You know Penny?”

I steadfastly, wholeheartedly refused to entertain the thought that _this_ was that bloke she was always chattering about, her sweetheart that lived oceans away. I bit my lip.

“Baz?”

I looked up. “Hmm?”

He paused, and for a moment, he looked scared. Although, I didn’t know of what. Some of the more ignorant boys in the village were scared of me, they thought I was a freak, but surely he didn’t know any of that? I hoped he didn’t.

He sighed, and it sounded resigned.

  
**SIMON**

It felt important to tell him now. Of course, I didn’t _have_ to tell him. We could keep talking like this until he needed to leave, then I’d disappear and never show myself again, easy as the summer breeze.

But I _wanted_ to see him again. I wanted to see his eyes squint a little when I say something funny, and I want to see if his skin is as soft as I imagine it is. I wanted to outline the line of his widow’s peak with my fingertip.

I’ve only been talking to him for less than an hour, and maybe this was the isolated nature of my life up until this point talking, but I wanted it so _badly._

I wanted to know him. And if I wanted to do that, I’d have to be honest. Spotting someone in the cold ocean once was odd enough, but _twice_? That would be hard to swallow.

Against my better judgement, against Penny’s (probably), and certainly against what would be Agatha’s, I flicked my tail up to break through the water’s surface.

He looked unaffected for a moment, as though what he was seeing had not quite registered with his mind.

Then he stiffened. Honestly, I had expected terror. Maybe, hopefully, some acceptance. Confusion, definitely. But in no way had I expected _anger._

“ _Fuck you,_ ” he spat, and scrambled up, his hands balled into fists and his thin shoulders like pieces of steel. His legs wobbled when he stood, and he cursed again.

I surged through the water, panicked. More panicked than I’d been when Penny had first seen me, more panicked than when a fisherman’s boat floats right above me and I have to stay completely still. Much more. “Wait—“

He was already gone, practically running up the craggy walk and over the edge.

I felt hollow. I’d thought, deep in the back of my mind, that maybe he’d think it was interesting? Or at least stay to hear me out. Maybe I should have eased him into it first? I don’t know, fuck, I was a fool either way.

I could have handled him running away, but he looked so _hurt_ , and I had no idea why?

I saw that book he was reading, the one with a soft red cover, lying on the beach. Breathing deeply, I swam as close to shore as I could manage. I found a dry piece of driftwood lying dangerously close to the water and pushed the book back with it, out of danger.

Nibbling my lip, I debated whether or not to leave. I don’t suppose it would be the smart thing to stick around but, I had to admit, it was tempting. Baz was bound to come back for his book, right? He’d nearly beaten Penny’s door down this morning trying to get one back, so obviously he cared about the things.

It was useless to me, but he seemed to love it, so I would guard it for him.

It wasn’t like I had anything better to do.

BAZ

Fuck him. Fuck him fuck him _fuck him_.

I wiped at the tears spilling over and down my cheeks. I didn’t know why I was crying. Or maybe I did, I don’t know. I’d just found this _boy_ and he had seemed interested in what I had to say. His eyes would widen and he’d nod, he’d ask questions, he looked at me with this look in his eyes that made my heart hammer. He’d grinned slyly and told me he was ‘technically’ naked, and my throat had closed up, like _maybe_ —

I angrily rubbed my face of moisture until the wool made the skin raw, and it stung in the harsh evening wind. I felt sleet starting to bite into my eyes and all I wanted to do was go back to that boy, to yell at him and ask him why he would pull a joke like that.

He’d seemed so _nice_ but, of course, it was a prank. Simon had been there to fool the _bookish freak_ that looked into his eyes a little too long, who’d blushed when he spoke.

I wanted to go back there and shove him, push him, scream at him, _kiss him. Fuck._

I spent the rest of the evening moping about the house, angrily writing out latin prose at the kitchen table. I could feel Mordelia watching me reproachfully. She wanted to ask what was the matter, I could tell, but I was never going to mention this fucked up day I’d had.

Mordelia just sat across from me, and it was silent in the cottage except for the faint cracking of the kerosene lamp.

Eventually, she cleared her throat, tugging at the sleeve of her dress. I ignored her. “Baz? Have you gotten that book back from the Bunces yet?”

I froze. Book. The book. _The bloody book._

 _I’d left my copy of Dorian Grey out on the surf._ I stood up, the scrape of the chair on the wooden floor deafening. I didn’t even say goodbye, I was so upset at myself. Usually I prided myself on my dramatic exits, but now here I was, tugging on my coat to go back and fetch a book I’d forgotten, at nearly midnight.

The wind howled in my hears as soon as I stepped outside.

Watford at night is, in short, a thousand times better than the daytime. The village is colder, and more desolate, with all the livestock shut up in the barns for the night, but I loved it. If it were under different circumstances, I would have enjoyed the walk.

**SIMON**

I don’t know why I was still out here.

I was usually sheltered in Penny’s covered dock by now, but here I was.

The moon was hung high up in the sky. The sky was so dark that it reminded me of Agatha’s eyes, black moons like yawning void.

I floated on my back, swishing my tail absently in the water and letting the iciness seep into my bones. I kept flicking my eyes back over to the book Baz’d left, hoping against all better judgement that he’d come back.

**BAZ**

I caught sight of him immediately.

My breath caught in my throat, watching the long tail swirling lazily through the water, opalescent in the moonlight. He was floating on his back, arms curled on top of his chest like he was keeping them from getting too cold.

Sluggishly, I thought, _that tail is real._

**SIMON**

I heard a quiet noise on shore.

The smell of cedar and oranges drifted down on the wind, so I didn’t bother ducking beneath the water. Baz’d already seen me, after all. Seen _all_ of me.

He was standing on shore, looking as though he’d completely forgotten why he’d come back.

Quietly, I said, “I pushed your book back from the tide. I figured you wouldn’t want it wet.”

He inclined his head. In the dim light of the moon, I saw he still looked upset, but now he also looked nervous.

Wordlessly, he picked the book up, slipping it in the inside of his coat. But, rather than walking back, disappearing over the edge of the hill and back to the landfolk, he hesitated. Bit his lip.

He started to walk along the shore, towards an old piece of weathered driftwood. Half of it was jutting out from the water, dry. He sat on that part.

Cautiously, I swam after him, lifting myself up to perch on the wet part of the wood. He was close enough now for me to touch him, but instead, _he_ touched _me._

  
**BAZ**

The scales of his tail felt slick and cold underneath the pads of my fingers. I could see they were a cacophony of tropical hues, golds and turquoise, scraped and damaged in some spots, like he’d gotten into fights or tangled up in fishing nets.

“I’m supposed to believe this is real?” I breathed, the strength of my voice diluted by the flecks of seafoam on his lashes and the way the moon lit up his wet hair.

He huffed. “What else would it be?”

“A joke.”

He looked at me oddly. I felt like looking away, which was preposterous. I _never_ acted this way, with _anyone_. Least of all someone who was most likely a fever dream. “I would never joke.”

“No,” I whispered, “I suppose not.”

He flicked his fin up, spattering me with a spray of icy saltwater. I glowered, but he just giggled. Warmth bloomed in my chest.

Who cared if this was a figment of my imagination? I could have this forever, a memory of a boy who was made of gold leaf scales and blue shards of Mediterranean waters, with a tail that swayed through the water like a mirage. He was an impossibility, but I had never felt more normal.

He didn’t make me feel like a freak.

**SIMON**

He was touching my scales curiously, much like how Penny had when she’d first met me. I had a mind to tell him that he and Penny were very similar, in fact, but I felt like that would ruin the moment.

His hair blended into the darkness, and the skin on his face looked red and raw. He looked brutal, a little bit tragic, and _hopeful._

I felt hopeful, too.

So I plucked his hand off my tail. I felt him start, but I just looked at him through my eyelashes, twining our fingers together.

**BAZ**

_Oh my God._

His hand was damp and soft against mine, smooth and strong.

I was holding hands with a dream boy, on a piece of driftwood, at midnight. The light of the moon was catching on his scales, and his hand was warm against mine. He was content in the silence of a wondrous, exciting dream. I’d miss this when I woke up.

_I’m living a charmed life._


	4. Chapter 4

**PENNY**

Who the _fuck_ is banging at our door at six in the morning?

I grumbled all the way, rubbing my eyes and pushing my spectacles on. The floor was cold, the air damp in the pre-dawn. In fact, frost was starting to seep along the sides of the door like spidery ivy.

“Coming, coming, by God—“

As soon as I undid the latch, _Basil Pitch_ burst his way in.

Sputtering, I opened my mouth to scream at him ( _What do you think you’re doing in my house?_ ), but then paused.

Something was off about him.

Basil usually composed, an antisocial wanker that stuck to his books and scowled at anyone who got close enough. Which suited me just fine, mind you. But now, his hair was mussed, falling in his face. His clothes looked rumpled, sand-covered, as though he’d slept on the surf.

At least he’d had the mind to leave his muddy boots outside.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. Logically, the only reason Basil would be here this early was some sort of emergency. We had that mutual understanding. As two of the most intelligent people in the village, and I _loathed_ to say that, sometimes we _had_ to rely on each other.

He just shook his head, brows furrowed. His red scarf was hanging loose around his neck, crusty with dried salt. Grey, manic eyes blinked owlishly at me.

Then he asked me a question I never thought I’d have to answer.

“Is Simon real?”

**BAZ**

It was common knowledge that the Bunces were witches.

Nestled in the crook of a dark cave, their cottage was always smelling of sage and mystical intentions. Purple smoke rose from the chimney at night and runes were carved in their dock to ward off terrible storms.

The village stayed far away from them, and as long as they didn’t bother us, we didn’t bother them. Mordelia, of course, was the exception. She was always down here, pestering Priya and nipping at Primal’s heels.

Penelope was the oddest of the bunch. She had necklaces of fish bones, pieces of paper with sigils scrawled on them braided into her hair. She had spell books buried all over this blasted village.

She was always hiding things, so it made sense that she’d hide a mythical creature in her dock.

  
As I watched her blink impassively at my question, however, panic coursed cold through my veins.

 _Simon and I._ We had talked so late into the night, his fingers heavy on mine and his breath smelling like cool water as it fanned across my face. Simon would lean in close, until his nose was close to brushing mine, and he’d smile like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

 _My mythical creature and I._ He smelled of the mysterious depths sailors talk about in hushed whispers, while I just smelled of the village. Of peat smoke and mundanity. I fell asleep to the sounds of his tail swaying back and forth in the tidepool.

When I’d woken up, the sky was barely light, sand was lodged in every crevice on my body, and Simon was gone.

I hadn’t even bothered to change, or wash my hands. _I’d had to find Penny._

“What do you mean?” She asked now, narrowing her eyes. I was an unnaturally tall man, and she was an unnaturally small woman but, despite that, it felt as though we were eye level.

I snapped, “The boy with a blooming _fish tail_ that I spent the night talking to, you insufferable magpie.”

She bristled like a porcupine. “How dare you, you overconfident scarecrow!”

“Hedge-creeper.”

“Pigeon-livered ratbag!”

I took a deep breath, clenching my jaw. This wasn’t turning out exactly as I’d hoped. If her voice got any more shrill, she’d wake the whole bloody Bunce clan up.

I held my hands up. After a few tense moments, she nodded tersely. I cleared my throat. “I saw a boy in the water yesterday. He told me his name was Simon, and—” I paused, suddenly unsure if I should continue.

I’d foolishly assumed Penny would know Simon’s condition, but he’d never mentioned she had, now that I looked back on it.

Penny just hummed, relaxing her shoulders a bit. Her lips twitched upwards for a fleeting moment. “He doesn’t _look like most boys_ , you mean?”

I huffed. “Indeed.”

She nodded, eyeing me. Abruptly, she turned, gesturing me to follow her to the kitchen table. As I sat, she bustled about in the kitchen, brewing a cuppa.

 _Everything is so warm here_ , I thought, slipping my coat off and hanging it off the back of the chair. The walls were painted with a spattering of different colors, and the table felt warm under my fingertips.

My house was consistently damp and clammy but, here, in this small cottage halfway hidden in the rocks, a roaring fireplace made the air woody and dry.

Bunce returned with two mugs of suspicious green juice that she then claimed was fennel tea, but I didn’t believe her. Fennel wasn’t supposed to smell like jasmine and treacle, not in the slightest.

I sipped it anyway, and it coated my mouth with slimy warmth. I looked up from the tea to find her watching me, eyes unreadable. I sniffed in order to distract her from the way I was shifting in the chair.

Her brown eyes should have been inherently soft, but instead they were like shards of glass biting into me. She tapped her mug. “Basil. Will you tell anyone?”

I bit my lip hard enough to leave a dark mark. Anger flared in me, even though it was irrational. She was looking out for him, I knew, but how could she possibly think I would tell anyone? I’d nearly laughed manically in relief when she acknowledged Simon’s existence, because that meant he was real; he wasn’t something I’d dreamed about in the cloying darkness of this village and _how could she even consider I’d throw that away?_

I just shook my head, swallowing more of the sludge-like tea and washing away the bitterness of words unsaid.

She nodded, then smiled. Genuinely, warmly, she _smiled_. At _me._ It was disconcerting, to be completely honest.

**PENNY**

Basil was all sorts of surprising this morning.

First, he actually came to me for help. Which was a miracle in and of itself, not only because of his foolish pride, but also because of the runes.

I may or may not have carved a spell or two into the floorboards to keep him out, unless it was an actual emergency or he had good intentions. I couldn’t have him just lurking about freely, nicking my books like I nicked his.

He looked a little calmer now that he’d drank half the truth serum.

Now, of course, the Bunces were not _actual_ witches. Or, at least, not the ones who can brew bubbling cauldrons of potions over green-tinged fire. We were just one of a few remaining families that remembered the recipes of the druids, like, for instance, a thick tea-like drink that loosened the tongue just slightly.

Truth serums, I was proud to say, were one of my specialties.

“Baz,” I said conversationally, glancing out the window to see the sun pale in the morning fog, “tell me what happened yesterday?”

He just sighed like he simultaneously was going to hate the experience and was desperately ready to gush about it.

Basil had always been a man of two emotions. Angry, or unimpressed. But, as he spoke, I watched the way he would furrow his brow one moment, and watch it smooth out the next. I looked from his twitching fingers to his smiling lips to the animated way he breathed out my friend’s name.

He didn’t seem like he was just another emotionless part of the shoreline any longer.

I almost wanted to ask him, _Simon’s what got you like this? Really? That silly finned fucker?_

“…And then I wake up, the bugger’s gone. _Gone_.” He threw his hands up, always one for melodrama. “Has he just up and left?”

“Your first question is where he is? Shouldn’t you be asking how this is possible?”

Basil waved me off. “Inconsequential.”

I blinked.

Fair enough.

“Simon hasn’t just up and left, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I said finally. “We need to talk at some point, soon, though, about how to keep this between us. Because it has to stay between us, Basil. It _has_ to.”

At his impatient look, I paused, before continuing. Just to rile him up a bit. I couldn’t help myself. “He probably saw a fisherman and had to leave, some such as that. If I were you, I’d go back and see if—”

The harsh screech of Basil’s chair against the floor cut me off. A bit frantically, he started pulling on his coat, fluffing his scarf up, and running a hand through his mussed hair. Absently, he said, “Horrible talking with you, Bunce, as always. Have a lovely day. Must be going now.”

 _“Wait_ , Basil,” I whispered harshly, trying to grab his coat sleeve as he yanked the door back open. The bitter winter wind blew through the house and I recoiled, drawing my shawl tighter around myself.

How Basil managed traipsing around all day out there was far beyond me.

“Basil, you must come back here as soon as possible so we can—”

“Oh, absolutely,” he called out over his shoulder, loping out across the rocks, heading for the other side of the island. “I still need that book, you know.”

“You’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands, you nutter,” I muttered to myself, watching him scramble off.

I shouldered the door against the wind, shutting it and effectively putting thoughts of a blushing Basilton Pitch out of my mind.

**SIMON**

That damnable fisherman had absolutely no right to come as close to shore as he had.

I felt horrible having to leave Baz there, snoring away on the sand.

I’d had to stay out near the reefs for nearly a bloody hour and, when I’d gotten back, Baz had disappeared. With his book.

Sinking worry bloomed in my heart. Oddly, I hadn’t been so concerned yesterday as to whether Baz would send village folk out after me. I don’t think I’d really had time to properly ponder that. Now, though, I did.

I hauled myself up to sit on the rough gravel in the caves, along the shore. I stayed near the log where Baz and I had spent the night, in the hopes he might come back. I hated feeling like a pining maiden waiting passively, but there it was.

He’d looked so _peaceful_ when he’d slept, even though it was far too cold. I supposed he was used to it, this cold. I’d certainly grown used to it. But he’d grown up here. He didn’t have memories of sun-bathed water to keep him warm like I did.

He didn’t have much but his books to keep him warm, I assumed.

Somewhere between sunset yesterday and sunrise this morning, I had stopped being shocked at how attached I’d become to a grumbly human boy I knew fairly little about. A grumbly, _beautiful_ boy with a posh, raspy voice that shivered down my scales and lit my cheeks on fire.

I heard a faint rustling over by the log. Whipping my head up, I expected to see a flash of a cherry red scarf and hair like raven’s feathers. Instead, all that was there was a mangey dog, sniffing at the spot Baz had slept.

Her fur was faintly dirty, wet and stained around her paws. She was a beautiful blonde though, with a meek tail that curved down and drifted in the sand. One of her ears stood upright.

“Hello, Ebb,” I called, waggling my fingers at her.

She chuffed, tail swishing happily as she trotted over to me.

Penny wasn’t too fond of dogs, so I hadn’t told her about Ebb. She’d just started showing up on the shore sometime after Agatha’d left, thin and a bit mopey. I’d never met a dog before, but, from the stories I’d heard, I’d assumed dogs would be happy, energetic.

Ebb was a somber dog, though. I brought her fish and worked through any knots in her fur, and she visited me whenever I felt lonely.

I’d named her Ebb after the ocean. She came and went like the ebb and flow of the tide. It had taken me a week to decide whether to name her Ebb or Flow.

“I just don’t know, Ebbie,” I said, scratching her head and smoothing down her ear. “Do you think he’ll come back? What a prat, right?”

She just blinked at me slowly, curling up next to me on the shore and laying her head on my scales.

I didn’t know many waterfolk, but I was pretty sure I was the only one that owned a dog.

“I didn’t know mermaids had dogs.”

**BAZ**

Simon startled, whipping his head backwards so fast I was sure he got a cramp. The dog barely moved or otherwise acknowledged my presence.

I hadn’t expected Simon to be here, to be honest.

On the way here, niggling memories swam just underneath the surface of my thoughts. Memories of biting remarks, of boys at school cutting through me with one word. Or, rather, several words, all meaning the same thing.

_You aren’t like us._

But here Simon was, swishing his tail through the water like a small child would kick his feet, running damp fingers through a dog’s fur. He turned to look at me, and his blue eyes warmed up into something that made my knees turn to jelly.

I cleared my throat, dropping down onto my knees. I expected Simon to ask me where I’d been, I kind of wanted to ask him where he’d been, but he just jerked his head toward the dog. “This is Ebb. You can pet her if you’d like?”

“What kind of name is Ebb,” I grumbled, but I still reached out, patting her thigh hesitantly. She just closed her eyes. I assume it was to block out this God-awful awkward silence Simon and I were having.

Then Simon stopped petting her, trailing his fingers up to thread them through mine. I recoiled, something unsettling curdling in my stomach.

His eyes widened. “What? Did I do something wrong?”

 _“Yes_ ,” I hissed. “You cant just-just do that. In the _daylight._ ”

“Do what? Hold your hand? Why not?”

I stared at him. “ _Because_. Because, boys holding hands is—it’s not normal.”

“Neither is talking to one of the waterfolk and you’re doing that just fine,” Simon retorted. He looked baffled. “I don’t understand, Baz. You were fine last night?”

I sighed. “Yeah, when I thought you were just a figment of my imagination. A foolish little _romantic_ fantasy.”

His eyebrows quirked, and I realized what I had said.

I shoved off Ebb, back on my heels, icy cold fear racing down my spine _fuck_ —

In the back of my mind I knew I was being completely irrational to panic like this when it was just Simon and I. But memories of schoolyards and bloodied lips choked me and constricted my windpipe until I was kneeling on the rocks, feeling like I was suffocating just because I had held a boy’s hand and had said the word ‘romantic’. A boy with a tail and golden freckles. _Foolish foolish foolish._

_Freak freak freak._

Then, I felt soft, waterlogged fingers being pushed through my hair, comfortingly. I felt salty breath fan across my face and gentle words flowing around me. Simon speaking to me in some language that was definitely not human, voice as sweet as Turkish delight.

Finally, I opened my eyes, and my vision was consumed by wide, concerned blue eyes. Consistently blue eyes that didn’t seem to change with the weather or time of day. _Just blue_. Earnestly looking into mine.

“Are you okay?” He breathed, his fingers pausing in my hair.

I nodded, my hands drifting up to push through his curls. He smiled. His hair was rough, wiry, kind of like a terrier’s. I supposed that was to be expected, he did spend his life in saltwater, after all.

He was so different, a tempting tide that threatened to draw me under and let me drown.

_By God, I was going to let him._

**SIMON**

I didn’t really think about it when I kissed him.

Agatha and I had never really kissed, maybe ten times in our total relationship. Waterfolk in her latitude didn’t pick up the custom from humans like we had, but I’d never been bothered.

I was _terribly_ bothered with Baz, though. I _wanted_ to kiss him. So I did.

His hands had been twirling around the curls in my hair and he was looking at me with such a pained expression. I wanted it to go away.

His lips were chapped, but they were dry as they moved against mine. He’d reacted instantly, one hand jerking down to my back, his short nails digging in as he made a surprised noise

Baz kissed me like this was both his first and last time, messy and desperate.

I tightened my grip in his hair.

Eventually, our kiss slowed, until it was soft and rhythmic, like water lapping against rocks. _All I knew_ was water, but I wanted to experience _more._

Next to us, the dog just slept.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr!: @ebbthegoatgirl 
> 
> I would highly suggest looking this fic up on my tumblr because one of my dear friends has done artwork for it, which i cannot include here!!


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